


Wicked

by Sammniamii



Category: Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: OC death, Slight Violence, Theivery, abstract world, can you spot herobrine, posioning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-05
Updated: 2015-10-06
Packaged: 2018-04-25 01:23:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4941289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sammniamii/pseuds/Sammniamii
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jacob lives by three golden rules. He's always lived by these rules. Then fate decides that his luck has run out. Never break the rules!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Three Golden Rules

**Author's Note:**

> This is a abstract Minecraft world. Most of the characters are OC (MINE!), but I don't own Minecraft or Herobrine (like anyone can). There will be slight violence, OC death and yeah. Nothing major, considering my other works. THIS IS TAME. Oh yeah, this is a ONE SHOT that GREW (18 pages, almost 10k+ words). Comments, love - hate? Danke!

Jacob realized his mistake entirely too late to change the course he was heading down. The job was supposed to be easy, a simple break-in and steal a single item. Truly a vanilla hit that he normally wouldn't even have bothered with taking. Of course, this job was shoved down his throat with the threat of death, but a simple job overall.

" _And every time you break the Rules, there is a price to pay_ ."

The words rang through his skull, tearing into his fearful brain. He was almost to his breaking point, he had been running for hours, madly dashing through the forest while praying that he could throw off the person following him. It was times like this that made his mother's words seem like the wisest sage advice in the world.

" _Honest work pays off, dishonest work has a higher price_.  

There was three rules in his life that he tried to hold to. They were simple and kept him alive.

* * *

 

**First Rule: Never deal with Witches (or anything not human)**  

He should have known it was a trap from the second he opened his door and the room was dark. It wasn’t out of the norm that he left for extended periods of time, while he was gone he wanted to draw the least amount of attention to his hideout. He would leave the place darkened, but always a few torches inside to keep beasts from spawning. He was tired, worn out from spending nearly two months away, traversing the land on one assignment or another. Exhaustion will dull the senses of everyone eventually so the fact that his place was pitch black slipped his mind. 

As soon as he stepped inside, triggering the pressure plate that gave the Redstone lamps their signal, he realized his stupidity. Light flooded the area, temporary blinding him. Before he could react, something hit dead center of his chest, splashing a reeking fluid across his frame. Shocked at the suddenness of the attack, he failed to move before the effects of the potion started. He managed to give a yelp before his lungs seized, followed shortly by his muscles. Collapsing to the floor, he found himself unable to move as pain burned across his nerves. One thing, seemingly unaffected, was his eyes. Slowly they cleared and he saw his attacker.

"So, now that I have your attention, I have a job I would like to hire you for." The voice matched the woman that spoke. Clearly advanced in years, she stood in the center of his hideout, leaning against a long knurled cane. Her clothes where worn, but not ragged. Blue robes, black cloak covering her shoulders. The hood was pulled up, but still gave a clear view of her wrinkled weathered face. On that face was a smile, her eyes glittering with mirth. A spider looking over the fly caught in her web.

Rage filled him. Standing in his home stood a witch. A bloody Notch damned witch! As much as he wanted to strike that smile from her face, he was still unable move, let alone breathe to even scream at her. The woman hobbles over, leaning down to hover over his face. 

“Now, I will give you something to release you, if I have your promise to not attack me.” She pulls out a small vile holding a purple fluid. “Blink those pretty blue eyes young’n if you agree.” Against everything he wanted, she had him at a disadvantage he couldn’t overcome. With some difficulty, he slowly blinks his acceptance. She smiles, uncorks the vile, dumping the contents over him. 

The paralysis ends instantly, letting his lungs drawn in much needed air. Coughing violently, he struggles to sit up as the old woman backs up. Once he has full control of himself, he staggers to his feet, glaring at the old crone. Before he can start in on her, she voices her demands. 

"I want you to acquire for me a simple thing. In return, I will permanently remove the effects of that potion." His eyes open wide as her words sink in.

“What have you done to me, you old bat! Poisoning someone is really the worst way to make someone obey.” He snarls, taking a step toward the woman, his hand sliding to the sword at his belt. She doesn’t move, just continues to stand there, leaning against her cane.

“Aye, perhaps. But it does do wonders to make sure a person doesn’t get funny ideas about making people dead, who rather not be so. Would you even have listened to me if I just walked in here to ask?” Continuing to glare at the woman, he realizes she has a point. He has a dislike of witches, for reasons just like this. Sneaky, backhanded and always plotting.

"If you agree to retrieve this item, I shall give you something that will inhibit the effects for 1 week, which should give you more than enough time to acquire what I need. Once you get me said item, I will give you the final cure as well as pay you handsomely for your troubles." Alarm bells are ringing in his head, but the old bat has him between a rock and a hard place. She could be lying; he’s not poisoned at all, but if he was, ignoring her or killing her, would spell his death. Sighing, he relaxes, crossing his arms across his chest.

“Do you accept?” Even if he did get her whatever she wanted, she could still betray or kill him later. She already had a method to get him to do what she wanted, one that let her worry little about her own safety. He had to deal with her, at least for now. Damn witches.

“I have no choice, now do I? What is it you want me to acquire?” His voice was tinted in anger. Never deal with Witches, they hold all the cards. Damn it to Nether!

**Second Rule: Never steal from Guilds or Clans**

The old woman dug through her pockets, pulling out a crumbled piece of paper. Smoothing the paper out, she holds it out for him. Watching her face, he stomps over and snatches it from her grasp. The paper turns out to be a map, old and worn, but still readable. Scanning over it, he recognizes the various areas across the paper. Strange thing, most of the writing was in a language foreign to him. He didn’t know who made this map, but they didn’t hale from these lands. 

On the left side of the map, there was a red star drawn around one of those words. The location was a mountain range, a few days travel from here. He had been over them before, or rather around them, heading into one of the larger cities.  He didn’t remember why the group he had been traveling with had avoided simply cutting through the range. Thinking back, it occurred to him that he couldn’t remember any of them actually explaining why? The woman’s finger tapping the star broke him out of his thoughts. 

“There is a stronghold here. It is home of a group fools that call themselves Dwarves of Icymire. Although the place itself is massive, thankfully their numbers are small. There is a chance that they may not even be there." Looking up at the woman, I nod, storing away the information.

"Since it is a stronghold, you will not be able to just waltz in, they will have some type of defenses in place, more so if they aren’t home."

“Dwarves? You mean this group is like a Clan?” I had heard of groups of people that called themselves

Dwarves, miners that choose to live deep underground, often in ancient strongholds that dotted the land. They lived in groups, or Clans, isolating themselves from the rest of the Overworld. Off the top of his head, he could name two other groups of a similar nature, both were in distant lands. He never understood certain people’s attraction to form such groups. Mining was mining, just like farming was farming. It was done to keep you alive and get you something you needed. He knew that Clans were like Guilds, nothing more than trouble and always best avoided all together.

Thankfully he knew about stronghold. Most had been abandoned long ago, crumbling ruins of a long dead peoples, often a site where lost treasures waited, ripe for the picking. To hear of one so close to a large settlement, and inhabited, was a true rarity. People who often found them, ransacked the structures to the point many collapse, becoming permanently sealed. The witch gave a sharp cackle, her old skin wrinkling on her face as her smile grew wide enough to show her rotting teeth. Flinching away, he starts to fold up the map. 

"Entering this place should be of no issue to you. Are you not considered the best at what you do?" She eyed him, making him want to backhand that look off her face even more. Considering she was at least forty years his senior, she was giving him a look that if she were younger, may have been called seductive. All it did now was send shivers up his spine and make him feel dirty. Stepping back from the crone, he wants to be no closer to her than needed. One thing he did give her, was she did her homework. If witches knew of his reputation, he was doing far better than he had believed. As much as this was a benefit, it could also be a curse. Her task must be more complex than she was leading him to believe. 

"So what do you want from them?" Strongholds often had random treasures, from gold, diamonds, and artifacts from the past as well as other more mundane items. If this one was inhabited, it changed the odds of everything. They may have stripped everything clean, but they would also have their own treasures locked inside. 

That left him with just one major question. What could a bunch of stone lovers have that a surface witch would desire, enough so risk forcing him to acquire?

**Third Rule: Always know what you are stealing**  

"It is but a small thing. A minuscule item in the grandeur of the place. Inside their walls, they have a vault. Inside, they hold many items, some decidedly very rare. I only want one thing, a small silver colored rod, plain and unadorned. Considering the nature of these people, they not put much value in it, so it may be on display, or they may have it locked away. All I know, is that it is there and that I require it." He gave her another look, this one spoke volumes about what he considered on the validity of her claims. He felt more and more like a trapped animal, his survival instincts screaming that she was leaving out important information. He never liked working blind, there were too many variables to content with and things could go sour in a blink of an eye. As well as he hated acquiring “unknown” items, as they often caused trouble by themselves, not needing a human behind it.

"What is it?" His voice taking on a cold edge. If she was forcing him to retrieve this item, he wanted to know what he was really dealing with. The mirth that had been on the old woman's face disappeared, faster than a cloud's shadow. Her eyes take on a strange look, one that held both fear and excitement swirling in their dark depths. 

"Nothing that I could explain to you," She held up a hand, halting his question before it even left his lips. "You are not a user of magic, you know very little of the old ways. What it does, is of no concern to you. It will not harm you to touch or carry the item. In your hands, it is simply an iron rod." He watched her face, trying to determine how much of everything she spoke was truth. There were things she most defiantly was avoiding telling him, whether or not they would turn out to deadly to him the long term he had little clue. Sighing deeply, closing his eyes, he worked through everything she told him. It sounded like a simple heist. Yes, he would have to break into a stronghold, avoid a clan of Dwarves, locate an iron rod and return, all in less than one weeks’ time.

It wasn’t anything he couldn’t handle, but he rather not be forced.

"One week?" It was more of a statement to himself than a question to her, but she answered by nodding. He thought of the map, the distance to the location in question. If he had a good horse, he could get there in two days. Another day to break in and find this "rod", then another two days back. Five days total, which left him two extra in case something went wrong. 

"Well, since you leave me little recourse in this matter, I shall retrieve your rod. In return, you will give me the cure?" She nods, the smile slowly creeping back across her worn features. 

"Yes, the cure and ten blocks of gold." His eyes light up at the amount she was willing to part with. How in the Nether could a witch accrue so much gold was beyond him. He learned long ago to never question the source of payment. "And never again will I darken your door." He shook his head, this was all wrong. Every instinct he had was screaming at him to kill the damn woman, dig through her belongings and deal with way may come later. There was a 50/50 chance that she was lying to him. 

And if she wasn’t, he would die in a week. The pain of her potion was still starling fresh in his mind. With the fact he knew it stopped his breathing, he would suffocate under its effects. His hands itched to just slit her throat, but he wasn’t ready to die.

"You could have just offered the gold upfront." He worked for profit, he may have listened to her plea. Another chuckle from her brought back his desire to hit her, tenfold.

"And risk you either taking my gold, with no return, or worse, my life? No young one, I have not lived this long by being foolish. Make the first move and leave them playing catch-up." Her eyes had a wicked glint to them. She was a crafty old crone, he’d give her that.

"Get me that rod and you'll be a rich LIVING man." Rubbing his temple, he nods.

* * *

 So, his golden three rules had been broken. For years, he played his game, did his jobs, always keeping those three little rules as his only guideline. Other than that, he was willing to do almost anything, if the return was worth it in the end. 

As soon as he agreed, she handed him a second vile, which he wasted no time in consuming. He felt better, the headache lurking behind his eyes faded as well as the lingering weakness in his limbs. Gathering what supplies he would need, he made ready to leave that night. To his continuing annoyance, the Witch declared that she would stay at his home until he returned with her item. The reasoning behind her claim, it would make things easier. Or at least faster. He would have his cure faster, as her home was another three days travel past his. His time was limited, even with the two extra days, he could see her side. He might make it back, only to parish trying to find her. Threatening her with a slow painful demise if anything where to turn up hissing, he left the old crone camped out in his place. 

First things first, transportation. A quick trip to the nearest farm scored him a horse. He knew the farmer, the farmer knew him. They worked together to help each other from time to time. He had food, horses, and could openly go into the local village markets to get him the minor items he found himself lacking. The farmer in turn, got other items back. Saddles for his horses, enough iron for him to make a Golem to protect his lands. Even the occasional group of animals, to replenish his livestock. They offered their serves to each other, helping when needed and turning a blind eye in others. 

Slipping into the barn, he picked out one of the six mares within. She wasn’t the fastest, but she could run for hours without stopping. Since the route he was taking was more forested than level, fast wouldn’t help. Leaving his standard payment of three gold bars on the haybale inside her stall, he saddled up, heading out into the night. 

It was easy getting to the stronghold. The map, although old, was accurate. He knew the route, easily finding the old trails that kept him from the main roads and cities. The miles slipped away as the mount he picked ate up the distance. She kept her pace, even and strong throughout the trip, managing to get him there in the afternoon of the second day. 

He found the entrance of the stronghold right where the map had it marked. Stashing his horse, he worked his way over, keeping wary of sentries. Set right into rock was a massive set of double iron doors. Easily four times the size anything he had seen before, they effectively sealed off the entrance of the stronghold. There would be no way of breeching them without an army at his backing.

As he sat there in the gloom, a though crossed his mind. Perhaps they were just for show rather than functional. Anything of that size would require a lot of effort into just getting them moving. On either side of the doors, the forest grew right up to the rock face. There was a good chance there had to be a second entrance, possibly even more. 

Veering off to the right, he started searching the rock face, scanning for anything that could offer entrance. Time ticked away, but his search was fruitful. Although it wasn’t winter, the stronghold was built into a large mountain. As such, it was higher in elevation than the surrounding lands, and already had a coating of snow mantling the ground. Hidden underneath the snow laden branches of a spruce, he saw a glint of something. Digging under the tree, he found half buried in the snow, a metal lever set into the rock. 

Taking a chance, he pulled it. At first, nothing happened, not even a click to prove the lever was connected to anything. Then a pile of snow fell down around him, causing him to dash out, slip and fall flat on his back. Stunned, he lay blinking in the snow, looking up at a ledge of rock above him. As his eyes scanned the area, he saw a shadow on the rock, large enough for a man to walk through. 

Hastily climbing to his feet, he scaled the rock up to the ledge. It wasn’t much more than a narrow shelf, but it was wide enough to walk on. Working his way to shadow, he reaches out, his hand passing through the darkness into nothing. He found his door.  

It was a tunnel, carved directly into the rock, roughly two blocks by three. It was dark, no torches lined the walls, but he could see a fine layer of dust coating the ground closest to the opening. An unused entrance, perhaps long forgotten. Taking one last look around, he heads inside, blending into the darkness. 

Once inside, he pulls a small glass flask from a pocket. The liquid within gave off a faint glow. Popping the cork, he drains the container, pocketing the now empty flask. His eyes took on a slight glow, similar to the potion as it took effect. The darkness around him lightens, allowing him to see the tunnel in all its glory. Better than torches, even redstone versions, the Night vision potion was one of his favorite tricks in his trade. 

Once inside, he was surprised at what he found, or in this case, the lack of what he found. The walls were flat, no seams of hidden doors, and no large holes ready to spew forth arrows as the unwary walked by. No pressure plates, no tripwires, no nothing. The way down the tunnel was clear of everything but dust. No one had come down this way in a long time, so long that Notch only knew. Finding no traps was a novel concept, one that he wasn’t used to dealing with. Perhaps his luck had started to improve. If it held, there might not be many creatures lurking in the darkness either. 

Time passed as he made his way deeper into the rock. He had no clue how much time he been walking. After his first potion, he walked for a while in the dark, with one hand ghosting across the rough rock and the other, holding his sword before him. When he could no longer stand to stare into the blackness, he pulled another flask out. Downing that one, he quickly realized his luck was still holding strong. No mobs had spawned in the dark and he reached his goal. 

As his vision lightened, he found himself standing a few feet away from a blank expanse of wall. To someone not used to dealing in old ruins and strongholds, they might turn back, thinking they reached a dead end. No lever marked its surface, but he didn’t doubt that there had to be something near to trigger the opening. Slowly, he worked across the wall, feeling the surface, searching. At the bottom left corner, his fingers hit a button. Dropping into a crouch, reading his weapon, he triggers the mechanism. A second passes before the rock wall cracks, leaking light into the darkness, blinding him. When his eyes recover, he cautiously treads through, emerging to find himself standing inside a large tunnel. 

He had been in more than his share of strongholds, mineshafts, temples and more, but this place took the cake. It lacked the typical layout of every stronghold he had ever seen. This place was built with purpose, with a design in mind, rather than the random collection of tunnels and rooms he had come to expect. Not only was the layout different, but the construction itself was something unlike anything he had laid his eyes on in his existence.

The walls were carved straight into the rock, leaving the rough beauty of the stone to stand out. In random places, he could see various ores and even gems glittering in the light. Instead of wooden pillars or support beams, columns of rock stood out from the walls at regular intervals. Redstone lamps dotted ceiling, with more torches lining the walls every few feet, illuminating the fact that this was no simply three by three tunnel. It was massive, closer to twelve by twelve, if not more. 

And then there was the lava. Rivers of it flowed down the walls between the columns, covered by a sheet of thick glass. More ran below the floors, again covered in glass. With all this light, not only would very few beasts spawn, but it was going to make his staying hidden that much harder.

The size and scale of the place was impressive, but to him, also very worrying. If a single tunnel was this large, how big was the entire place? It could quite possibly take more than his whole amount of allotted day just to search out this vault, not even considering breaking into said vault.

Looking left, he could see the tunnel dip down, dropping out of sight. To the right, the tunnel opened into a large room. Across the way, he could see another large opening, a tunnel similar to the one he stood within.  Deciding that direction was as good as any, he stopped to consider using an Invis potion. He had brought four, but even his longest one would only last less than ten minutes. Patting the pocket that held the glass flasks, he inched his way forward.

Hours later, he realized this place was huge and he was glad to not waste his resources. As he wandered, he had been marking the walls, to hopefully make his escape. Twice he found he had looped back around and crossed his path. This place felt like a maze, designed to confuse any soul trapped within. Not just that, it must have taken an army of people years to make this place, which made him more uncomfortable as time passed. During the entire time he stumbled around, not once did he ever come upon another living soul.

The witch’s prediction that the place might be empty echoed in his head, but he still found it alarming to not hear any sound that he didn’t make. The whole place was silent, like a tomb. The analogy working on his nerves causing him to take several minutes to calm himself. There was no choice in this matter, he had to force himself to keep searching. Finally his perseverance paid off.

Exiting out of one tunnel, back once more into the great hall, he just happened to turn the right direction to spy a button on the wall, beside one of the columns. That was the first time he found a button just sitting there and he knew he had to be something. Sliding over, he scanned the stone, trying to see what else could be hidden. Finding nothing, he triggers the device. Directly in front of him, two blocks of stone pull back, reviling a small passage. It was only two by one, but it was the evenly spaced blocks of glowstone embedded into the floor that made him go in. These where the first pieces of glowstone he found here. Everywhere else in the place relied on torches or redstone for light. There had to be a good reason it was used only here.

Reaching the end of the passage, he exited into an open space. This area was drastically different than anything he had come across so far. Three of the four walls were made of different types of stone. The left was made of white, smooth stone that was chill to the touch. The wall with the exit he came through was red brick, rough and warm. The right, also white, but filled with small holes and icy to the touch. Topping everything off, the wall directly in front was comprised of blocks of iron. No columns supported the ceiling, which he saw was made out of purplish-black rock. The floor, smooth grey stone. The only light was more glowstone block set in a checker-board pattern across the floor.

This had to be the Vault, but sadly he saw no other door marring any of the other walls. Either it was hidden or didn’t exist, but he was putting his gold on hidden. All hope was not lost, as to the right of the Iron Block wall was a set of plaques. Six rows of six, each studded with a single wooden button. It was simple a combo lock, but with no clue as to the code, it could take him time to work out all the variations. Time that he didn’t have to waste. 

Walking up the buttons, he ran his hands gently over them.  It was then he noticed the blocks underneath the plaques. They were made up on different materials. Studying them, he saw sixteen different materials, randomly sorted. Turning around, he gazes out over the room. Smooth white, rough white. Smooth grey. Purple/black. Red brick and finally iron. Turning around, he realizes he found the code. It was an ingenious hint, if one wasn’t paying close attention, one could easily miss the connection. One block of each material was behind a different button. Slowly he hit the buttons that matched a material in the room.

Silence. Turning to face the room, he begins to double guess his logic. Was he supposed to press every button but those six? A loud crack echoes through the room, causing him to jump. The blank Iron wall has a crack running down the center. With another loud clank, four blocks pull back, leaving an opening. Shaking his head at the creators of the design, he heads toward the opening. Time was wasting, as well as his chance at staying hidden. The noise of the door was still echoing in his ears, if anyone was truly in this place, they would have heard that noise.


	2. In the end, crime doesn't pay

Just inside the doors, his foot comes down on a pressure plate. Eyes growing wide with alarm, he spins around in time to watch the doors snap shut. Cursing his luck under his breathe, he turns back to face the tunnel only to freeze. Redstone lamps shown down on two lines of armored knights, lining both walls. Each held a sword and shield before them, the tip of the sword buried into the stone before them. As breathtaking as the sight was, it did nothing to stop his heart from hammering in his chest in fright. 

It was only several minutes which neither he nor the knights moved, did he release that these where suits of armor, not real people. Approaching the first one, he was amazed to see it was crafted out of something which he had never seen. It looked like typical iron armor, crested with crossed twin axes on the chest piece, but the metal looked as if it had been melted or fused with… diamond? Reaching out, he ran a nail across a seam, proving it was smooth. It wasn’t inlaid, it was melded together in some fashion. Iron armor fused with diamond. 

The shields where made of similar material, the front of each also decorated with hand axes, crossed at the handles. The swords were a mix of materials, some iron, some diamond, others had black blades and one looked like it was made of emerald, most glowing with enchantments. It was as he passed the second row, he noticed on the wall behind each suit, hung a bow, with a quiver of arrows. Twenty four full suits of armor, complete with weapons, enough to outfit a small army. If he had the time, or had carried more than his single pack, he wouldn't stop to think twice about looting at least one full set. Not that he would wear the heavy armor himself, but he knew of several people who would pay handsomely for such a rare find. 

Although the thought of walking through the display of the armor was unsettling, he had to continue. On guard for any sudden movement, he cleared the field of armor. The hall was blank and empty, save for a faint light at the end. Making his way cautiously toward the end, he found it ended in a blank wall that split off each direction. More redstone lamps shown down from overhead, but other than those, the place was barren of decoration. Choosing the right branch, he walks down it to step out into a large cavernous room. While the sight of the armor was alarming, what graces his eyes inside the main room was enough to make him take a second thought at just looting the witch's item. There was no doubt, this had to be the Vault.

The room was a large open square, sections broken up into quarters via iron fencing. The left whole wall was nothing but stacks, upon stacks of chests. There had to be close to twenty columns, four high. Beside each chest was a sign, explaining the contents of said chest. Armor, weapons, gems, metals as well as much more. His greed push at him hungrily, wanting nothing more than to root through for whatever items of value he could find. Reaching toward a chest, his hand stops inches from the lid as his eye caught the tell-tale sign that these were trapped chests. Pulling back, he scans down the line. Each chest was trapped. With a deep sigh, he turns from the chests. A simple trapped chest wasn’t much to him, but seeing so many of them, scared him. All it would take is failing to disarm only one and whatever they laid in reserve might trigger those around it. All he could do now was hope the witch’s item was stored in one of those landmines.

The next wall was lined with bookshelves. Most held books, some plain, others glowing with magic, obviously some type of spellbook or enchantment tome. There were a few other items placed on random shelves, stuck between the multitudes of tomes. A strange faintly glowing mushroom growing on a piece of wood, an odd piece of crystal inside a glass block, a bowl of sulfuric smelling powder.

Some of these items were probably worth their weight in gold, even something as simple as the enchantment tomes. The same hunger as before stirred inside his chest, but this time is was easier to tame. None of these items looked anything like a rod. He had wasted far too much time just locating this room, he couldn’t waste more collecting items that wouldn’t fix his current problem. Heavy of heart, he turns toward the last wall.

This wall looked like a trophy display. It was lined with various pedestals, display cases, skulls, plaques and more. Some, where empty. Others contained items he didn't recognize, including what looked like a large black rock that seemed to smoke. One held a strange four pointed crystal that pulsed faintly. After spending several minutes walking down the wall, stopping to check each, he almost passed over the small silver rod, mounted on a board. There was no description, no housing or elaborate materials.

Just a plain plank of oak wood, holding a foot long silver rod, held in place by two slightly rusty nails.

Relief rushed through his veins as his hands gently lifted the rod off its display board. It was cool in his hands, smooth and unadorned with any markings he could see. Considering it was made of iron, it was lighter than he expected. Why in the Nether would a Witch want a chunk of iron, was beyond his guess. He had asked, she had refused to answer. Truly, he didn't care. All he wanted was to be free of the wretched hag, to have his life back. Perhaps later he might go searching from her, to have a not so gentle chat about tricking people into doing their dirty work. Sighing, he shoves the rod into the pocket lining his cloak. There would be time for that later.

* * *

It turned out that the leaving part was where his luck finally turned gave out. As he explored the stronghold, he left a trail of marks along the base of the walls, to lead him back to the entrance tunnel. Perhaps he had grown used to the isolation or maybe it was the elation of being able to leave and return home, he didn’t know.  The fact that the place seemed vacant sat in the back of his mind, festering and bothering him. That's why he hadn't wanted to deal with the chests, or try and loot anything. He felt like he was living on borrowed time.

Turning the last corner before his exit, he was grateful he kept his wits about him. For the first time, he found himself confronted with someone else. He froze mid step, spotting a man his back to him. He was dressed in black leathers, with a dark green cape. If it wasn't for the familiar symbol, the twin crossed axes, on the man's cape, he would have thought that this was another thief. The man had a torch in hand, peering down the darkened tunnel. Jacob knew he had one shot, he had to take out this person as silently as he could, or risk sounding an alarm. He didn’t know how many others, nor the whereabouts, but he knew it would bring others down on him like a pack of wolves. Slowly drawing his sword, he crept up on the person, praying that some small portion of his luck was still holding.

Getting within a foot of the man, luck vanished. The man must have heard some sound, as suddenly he spun on Jacob, his hand reaching for his weapon. Already having his drawn his gave him the split second advantage and he lunged forward, aiming for the man's chest. Would think by now he would have learned, but Fate had other plans. The man saw the attack, managing to twist to the side, avoiding the lethal strike. Jacob's weapon still found purchase in the other's flesh, piercing his side, causing the man to scream out in pain. Cursing under his breath, he rips his sword free, grabbed the man's arm and flung him away from the exit. Having no time to waste, he tore down the darkened tunnel, ears straining for sounds of pursuit.

Finally, after some unknown number of minuets, he saw light, signaling the end of his hurried flight. Emerging into the bright light, he had to flatten himself to the ledge wall until his eyes readjusted to the glare of the sun. Half blind, he felt his cloak, confirming the rod was still safely tucked in its pocket. Behind him, he thought her heard a shout, echoing from within the tunnel. Realizing he had no more time, he jumps from edge. Landing harder than he expected in the snow below, he forces his aching legs to obey, staggering to his feet. The first two parts of his job was completed, now only the delivery was left. Pushing forward, he began working on his revenge plans for the witch. She will get her rod, he'll get his cure and she'll met a messy end, hopefully at the end of his sword.

* * *

It was after the sun slipped below the horizon that evening, Jacob knew he was screwed. He made good time, fleeing the mountainous area was fast as the snow would let his horse. Only when cleared the valley, stopping on a ridge to let the mare rest, did he spare a glance behind him. With the sun set, the valley was plunged into darkness, except it wasn’t dark. Below, bobbing around like fireflies, several small lights were working their way toward the ridge he stood. Standing there, watching them, he shook himself. Someone must be following him, probably a party from the stronghold. Cursing Fate, he swung himself up into the saddle, he turns once more to view the lights. Six of them, one of them was more than half way to him already. Tapping his pocket, feeling the rod stored within, he kicked his horse forward. As much as he wanted to spend a night resting, he couldn’t take the chance whoever was tracking him would catch up. His best estimate was he had spent a day within the mountain. Three days down, at least 2 more back. Probably longer. He wouldn’t risk a straight path like the one he had used to travel out, no he planned on losing his shadows. Another day down, possibly more. It was going to be close, but as long as nothing else blocked his path, he would make it with time to spare. If he was lucky enough, he might be able to get them on the witch’s trail instead of his. Give the old bat a taste of her own medicine.

Through the night he rode, having to slow down due to snow covering the ground. Twice his horse almost slipped. Although he wanted to keep the horse, the forest he planned on traveling through was dense, if would be slower on horseback than foot. Tossing the saddle under a low lying tree, he smacks the horses flank, sending her off. Hopefully they would follow her rather than himself, but just in case he took him time entering the woods. Covering one’s tracks in snow was nearly impossible, but he managed to gain hopefully unmarked passage into the forest. Under the dense of the foliage, the ground was mostly clear of snow, making his progress easier.

By the time, the sky started to lighten, there was no mistaking the fact he was being followed. Several times he watched as birds took to the sky from the surrounding woods. His plan of leaving a false trail with the freed horse must have failed. Whoever was following had entered the same forest as he. As the day grew lighter, he took to the tree tops, hoping to thrown them off by leaving no trail to follow. It took longer, but hopping from tree to tree let him keep an eye on the surroundings.

After the sun passed its high, he drops back to the ground, glad for the chance to walk on flat ground. Standing still, he was listening to the sounds of life in the woods. Normal sounds, except he heard another flight of startled birds. He had no clue as to how, but his pursuers where still playing shadow. Pulling the map from its pocket, he scans the worn paper. There, not far from where he currently was, a river worked its way across the land. If his memory was true, there was a waterfall not far away, with a little known cave system hidden behind. If he could make it there, he would at least be able to get some rest. With some rest, he should be able to work out a better plan to throw his would be trackers off their mark. Tucking the map back away, he looks up through the trees, noting the direction of the shadows. Plan made, he switches directions and took off.

An hour later, he cleared the line of trees that marked the river's edge. The area was wild, the water had cut its path through the forest long ago, regardless of the trees. The bank of the river was higher on one side than the other, more due to the layout of the land than any part of the river's choice. Goal in sight, he plows in the chilly water, aiming for the far side. The river wasn't fast, but it was deep enough at the center than he had to swim across. Once near the far bank, when the water level had fallen below his knees, he turns upstream, still wading in the chilly waters. It would be easier to walk on dry land, but the river would wash away his trail long before those following got there. His hope was they wouldn't know which direction he went, up stream, downstream or maybe just across. Their odds of guessing right were lowered as he left them more options. He was banking on them heading the wrong way to gain him space and time.

Several hours later netted him a cold dark hole behind the waterfall, staring out into the deepening darkness. He watched the pinpricks of light, the markings of his followers, as they found his river crossing. With a smile, he watched the six lights break up. Two went down stream, two across and deeper into the woods, One turned back the direction they came. The remaining one unfortunately came his direction.

He knew these caves were not well known, it was by sheer luck he had found them while attempting to find shelter during a sudden thunderstorm. Safe in his nook, he watched the light creep closer, finally coming to a stop at the base of the waterfall. The twin small light blossomed into a larger single light as it became evident, they set up camp for the night. As the night wore on, he fought his urge to flee. He could leave, move further upstream, or strike out away from the river. He can still escape, he knew it. This wasn’t the first time he fled, fearful of the angry mob. As much as he wanted to put his faith in his past knowledge, some nagging itch at the base of skull kept him guessing. He spent the night cold, damp, cramped and worried, drifting off in fits.

Morning came slowly, more so he ever had to live through. Time often felt like it was moving too fast, last night it felt as for every ten minutes went by, 5 more somehow forced their way back. When the campfire below suddenly went out, he snapped out of his strange mood. He knew fear and it currently gripped his chest. Normally he gave little thought to anyone he cut down, it was a dog eat dog world. If people were foolish enough to get in his way, who was he to prevent them from learning a painful lesson. Drawing a deep breath and pushing back into the darkness of his nook, he realized he was the one learning the lesson this time.

He had to make a choice. Flee now, hoping they would miss his trail. Or wait, hoping they would pass him by and leave him the chance to escape. Did they know of the caves? Where they in the caves? Are they waiting for him to exit? Have they passed by? Finally he couldn't take the waiting, the not knowing. Slowly he crept free his hole, winding his way out of the cave system. Once he made it to the entrance, he stood inside the shadows, watching the outside world. There were no signs that anyone had been near, no footsteps, no broken branches or disturbed bushes. Perhaps his luck had returned, making up for its earlier disappearance. Cautiously, he made his way out of the caves, slipping back in to the forest. Time was ticking away. He had less than 3 days to get back, but if he had finally slipped his shadows, he hoped for an easier trip home.

He was wrong.

* * *

The rest of the day had passed with no issue. He made decent time, weaving his way through the forest, sometimes doubling back over his trail. Up into the trees and back on the ground, he was hoping to leave the most confusing trail he could manage. All the while, he had been keeping his eyes open, looking for any signs that he was still being followed. He saw nothing, but it didn’t stop that nagging feeling tickling the base of his brain.

When night fell, he took a chance at resting, climbing up into a tall spruce and strapping himself to the tree. Nestled high above the ground, he waited a few hours, scanning the darkness for the points of light that marked his pursuers. Nothing but darkness spanned in all directions and he finally left his tired eyes slide shut. He woke up a few times, the wind shook the tree. A pack of wolves howled in the dark. A large bird flew too close to where he was sleeping. All in all, he got a decent night’s sleep. When the dawn started coloring the sky, he made his way down. Jumping the last few feet down, he stops to stare in horror at the ground. Circling his tree was a set of prints, light and smaller than his, but unmistakably human in nature. They circled the tree twice then took off at ninety degrees from the direction he had been heading. Looking at the surrounding the forest, nothing stood out, no sounds out of the normal drifted to him, and other than these marks, it had looked like had escaped his pursuers. There was a slim chance that this was some random person, perhaps a hunter or maybe even a local.

Shaking himself, to clear his mind, he stretches, working out the kinks from sending the night up a tree. It didn't matter. He had no time left to worry, with two days left, he was going to make it back with just enough time. Any more distractions or issues risked pushing things into the danger zone. Rolling his shoulders one last time, he start off, dropping into a fast jog.

Miles to go and the hours are wasting.

It was slightly after noon that he realized someone was following him. He had come to a rest, near a small clearing. The sky overhead had started to cloud up, reducing the light under the tree canopy, but he wasn't worried. Leaning back against the base of a tree, he felt the hidden pocket where the rod was stashed. He could feel the cool metal through the fabric of his cloak. Sighing, he lets his eyes close, relishing the few seconds of peace surrounding him. A loud crack echoing through the area made him jump, his heart slamming in his chest. Leaping to his feet, weapon drawn by instinct, he freezes, ears straining to listen.

The noise had sounded like a tree branch falling, but the loudness of it was alarming. Either it was very near or a sizable branch. Worse yet, was it natural, an animal or something else? Several minuets creep by with no new sounds. Slowly he relaxes, releasing the breath he had been holding. As he slid his sword back into its sheath, the faint sound of the metal scraping against the leather made him start. In his panic, he had been listening for sounds. Now he was surrounded by an almost total lack of any noise. No animals, no insects, nothing. As he scans through the foliage, he suddenly freezes. From a tree across the clearing, hidden within the shadows of its leaves, a pair of violet orbs glared down at him. His heart, already pounding, seemed to stop. He blinks and the spell is shattered, allowing him to turn suddenly, tearing back into the forest proper. 

He only knew of one creature that had eyes of that color and he wanted no part of it. Darting through the trees he pushes himself to the max, wanting as much distance between him and that thing, as fast as possible. As he ran, it dawned on him, that if that creature had been following him, it would explain that alarming feeling he had all day. Those creatures were wretched things, cursed. They only brought death to those unfortunate to catch its attention. Breathe pumping from his abused lungs, he forces his legs to move. He had stared directly at its eyes. He knew what often befell those who made the same mistake. Fear was a powerful emotion and he let it drive him forward.

Only after hours of running did he finally let his weary body collapse, gasping at the air like a beached fish. The sun hung low in the sky, partially obscured with thick clouds. In his flight, he had made up some of time he had lost, covering the miles in a frenzied panic. It was only as he lay slumped against a tree, struggling to catch his breath, he realized the folly of his flight. He may have made up time, but now he was utterly exhausted. Wanting nothing more than to close his eyes and rest, he forces himself to his feet. If he kept moving throughout the night, he would be that much closer to his goal.

Groaning softly while staggering forward, he barely hears the footsteps. The sound was in his ears, but it took valuable seconds for his weary brain to process what was happening. From the bushes before him, a figure leaps out. He has no time to think, but drives to the side, narrowly missing the twin axes that the person swung down at him. Rolling, he leaps forward, dashing back into the woods, zig-zaging though the trunks. He could hear who ever surprised him giving chase. 

He didn't know who this person was, but they were either persistent or trained in tracking. No matter what trick he tried to lose his tail, they clung to him like a burr. Twice he heard the swooshing sound signaling the flight of some projectile toward him. Both times, he only just managed to shift in the last moment, watching in horror as a large iron axe embed itself into the trunk of a tree, the second time only inches from his shoulder. He was back in that panicked state of mind, reacting on instinct and years of surviving the grueling battles. Pushing on, he knew that he was in dire straits; exhausted, thirsty and hungry. If he couldn't shake his attacker soon, he would have to risk taking a stand to fight.

Sadly the option was taken away from him as he heard the sound of the axe cutting through the air again. It came from his right, so he dove left only to realize as the metal dug into his shoulder that they had baited him. A scream rips from him, stopping abruptly as he fell face first to the ground. His whole left side was a blinding mass of pain, he couldn't even force that arm to move. Pushing himself shakily up with his working limb, he looks over toward his attacker, mud covering his face and streaming into his eyes. The view that met his eyes wasn't that of the darkened forest, but rather a pair of armored legs, the boots sunk into the mud. Trying to push himself free of the mud, he finds himself thrown back into another world of pain as the axe is ripped from his shoulder. This time his scream was loud enough to scare a flock of birds into flight. Darkness rushes in and his world blacks out.

When he woke, surprising by itself, he found himself propped up again a tree. His left arm and shoulder were nothing but a dull throbbing ache, he couldn’t feel, let alone move his fingers. The rest of him was cold and wet, soaked to the skin in mud and blood. Weakly lifting his head, he found himself staring up at his attacker. It was a young woman, deathly pale skin and raven haired, streaked with grey. Her armor was worn, but heavy, in a shape and style he had never seen before. He saw a glint of shiny blue, he had seen that armor before. It was one of the suits from the vault. Bright blue fabric filled the spaces between the joints of metal, ending as a shortened dress. A black cloak hung across her shoulders.

In her hands where two axes, one stained with his dry blood, the other glimmering softly in the gloom. Centered on her chestplate hung a strange gem, purple, green and black, patterned into the shape of a large eye. The thing that stilled his heart and drained the remaining heat from him was her eyes. It was her eyes that he had seen earlier, glaring at him from across that grove. Her eyes glowed the same purplish color of the fabled Endermen.

Strength spent, exhausted and slowly bleeding out, he had no fight left in him.

"Who... are you?" Her unnatural stare was the only reply. She had more than enough time and opportunity to finish him off, so why was he still breathing?

"What do you want?" This time, his whispered question got a response. She flips up both axes, catching them near the heads and cross tucking them into her belt. In the same breath, she takes the few steps closing the distance between them. Dropping to one knee between his legs, she leans into his face, her eyes boring into his.

Lightning quick, she grabs his injured arm, fingers digging into the damaged flesh. Moaning, he forces himself to keep his eyes open. With her other hand, she starts patting him down, digging through his numerous pockets. He can do nothing to impede her, watching as she finally locates the hidden pocket that he stashed that damnable rod. Yanking it clear, she shoves him aside, drawing up to her feet. Holding the rod, she gazes down at it almost lovingly, like it was a treasured trinket. He let himself fall over, glad to escape her immediate concern. Although he thought he had given his pursuers the slip, he was clearly in the wrong. Here stood a woman holding the one thing that had brought him nothing but trouble, and now, death.

"That's it? They..." He lifts his head up to view her better. "Sent you to drag that back?" Black spots dance at the edges of his vision. She looks from the rod, down at him. He must be a sight, bloody and covered in mud. She tilts her head, her eyes continuing to bore into his. Panic rushes up through his battered body, something was wrong. She had what she wanted, why didn’t she leave?

"So you have the wretched thing....go, leave me to die in peace." He croaks out, wondering which would be the method of his demise. Blood loss or that damn witch’s potion. As he lays there, a though slithers into his mind. She has done nothing more but stare at him, her eyes glowing in the dark. Eyes. Glowing in the dark. Oh dear sweet Notch, what a time to wish it had been an Enderman chasing him.

His frantic mind drags forth a memory of a childhood tale, one whispered by mothers to frighten their children to dangers of the world. The White-Eyed Demon, slayer of man. He who hunts the night. The Mob King. Tales always said he was male, could they be wrong? Was the woman standing over him possibly this horrific being?

"Are you? Are you ... HIM?" He gasps, his mind at war with itself. Slowly a smile tugs at the corners of her mouth, letting a soft chuckle escape her lips. The sound wasn't of mirth, rather of darkness, pain and the promise of death. It did nothing but freeze his already chilled blood in his veins. She turns back to face him properly. Fear takes over and he shoves himself back, feet flailing into the mud, struggling to gain purchase and escape from this woman.

"No dear boy.” She closes the distance fast. “I would never claim to be the Lord of the Nether." Her smile grew as she reaches down, grabbing the front of his filthy shirt. “To do such an atrocity, would invite a slow and painful death.” Pulling him off the ground, she lowers her face to his. There was no mercy in her face, only anger.

"I am no God, I am only Obiesen, Protectorate of the Durian Valley clans." He had no clue about what she was talking about, other than the word protectorate. She came from the clan he stole the rod from, had to, there was no other explanation. All his effort at evading, failed, lethally.

"You have done crimes against my clan, split my brothers’ blood and stolen from me." Her breath was cold against the skin of his face, smelling of some faint metallic odor he couldn’t place. It reminded him of the smell you got just before a rainstorm.

"For your crimes, the punishment would normally be death." She emphasizes the word, letting sink in. His brain was stuck in slow mode, he knew she hinted at something, but the meaning eluded him.  Slowly he begins to feel something strange, like the tingling one would get if their limbs had fallen asleep. It starts in his chest, spreading up into both arms and down into his stomach. He can't blink, can't even force the air out of his lungs. He can do nothing, just stare in abject horror, waiting for her to finis playing with him. She knew he was afraid.

He understood, he was going to die.

Without notice, she suddenly releases him, letting him splat back into the mud, numb with shock. Standing upright, she holds the rod out over him.

"You have no idea what you stole, do you?" He can't answer, it takes all his effort to just breathe. Talking his beyond his reach, but he finds himself shaking his head ever so slightly.

"This is an old artifact, crafted back in a time when magic ran wild and gods roamed the land. It was used to punish those to whom death was too easy, too kind of a final end. Or those who thought themselves above death." The rod, which he had mistakenly thought was simple and unadorned, finally revealed it's hidden worth. Pulsing red and purple runes start tracing themselves across the surface, speaking of hidden ancient magic. She leans over, reaching out to hold the rod over his sweaty forehead.  She keeps it hovering an inch away, letting the color of the runes dance across his ashen skin.

"You are probably going to wish the Nether Prince found you instead of me." He can't break his stare into her purple eyes. She pushes the rod down until, ever so lightly, the rod taps against his skin. For a brief second nothing happens. The thought that she was playing with him fills his head, just as the pain wipes it from him. From every part of his being, seething pain flares through him, burning as if a fire was started within his bones. A scream, unlike anything he ever uttered or heard before, splits the night air. His limb lock tight, his back arches enough that it clears the ground. His voice cracks as his vocal cords can't handle the force of the sound issuing from him. The noise stops suddenly as his lungs freeze, unable to power any sounds. His mind finally gives out and goes blank, unable to cope.

Slowly she lifts the rod off his skin, pulling with it a whitish wispy mist. The surface of the rod starts to glow white, obscuring the runes across its surface, as the mist seems to flow inside. Seconds seem to stretch into hours as the mist is pulled from his helpless body. Finally as the last few wisps are freed, his body slumps down, lifeless. His once blue eyes, now glazed and sightless, stare blindly into the distance. Reflected in their glassy exterior, was the woman, now standing with the wand before her face.

"Your soul will come to good use, even if you never did. No one steals anything of mine." Turning from the corpse, she slides the rod into a loop of her belt, wrapping a second cord around to keep it in place. Striding away, she blends back into the shadows of the forest, her silhouette quickly becoming lost. As the minuets pass, the woods slowly comes back to life. Insects screech, birds call, other faint sounds that mark life fill the night air.

High up in a tree, in the thinner branches near the crown, a shadow moves. A figure, clothed in blue, stands up on a branch, bracing itself against the trunk. No armor graces his form, only a sword at one side, a pick at the other. As the weak light of the moon finally pushes through the clouds far overhead, his pale face was clear to the world. There was little to mark this person as anything special, except for one feature.

Twin white orbs glow where the man's eyes should be.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OMG - I finished a story. Hide your cats, hide you game consoles.... we getting strange up in here.
> 
> But its a good thing - it's making me want to write more, so work is being done on my other stuff.
> 
> Yeah. Thanks anyone who reads my insanity.


End file.
